True Nord
by smytheairguard
Summary: Tala is a true nord. Stormcloak, Talos worshipper. She soon uncovers a deeper relationship with the rebellious Jarl Ulfric then she thought, and her inborn power will turn the tides in a dark looking war effort.


_AN: This chapter is short but the others will be better and longer. Please review in the mean time!_

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I peered over the rock I layed stretched out upon. My figure is about 5'6 and I am skinny but still have muscle from years of practicaly living in fields, fighting wolves and hunting game. I wore my Stormcloak garb: The standard Cuirass, Hide Helmet, Fur Boots and Gloves. I had my Orcish bow from trading with the Orc strongholds, Steel Arrows, Short Sword on a rope, and Steel Dagger. I had Auburn hair partially braided with branches. My Amulet of Talos lay under my Amulet of Kynareth, creating a makeshift scope. This was easy for me to hunt with as it provided me with accurate shots. I rarely missed when using it, in fact it hadn't been since the last century I missed with it, so it worked well.

The rock was warmed by the volcanic underground of the rift where I was currently located. My homestead, located in the border of the Pale and the Rift, is much colder, and I often got frost upon my old hide garb. Now I wore Stormcloak armor.

I envy the non Nord who had to wear it. It provided only an extremely thin loin cloth between the chain mill and skin. This provided a harsh cold upon the wearers skin and not to mention Skyrim's climate. A Khajiit would be fine I think. Their fur is like a sabre cats.

I saw a disturbance in a bush as a fox came running through, disturbing my train of thought.I lowered my bow in dissapointment. I contemplated shooting it, but the fox was not worth it, as it provided cheap furs and little meat. Instead I decided to move up a nearby tree overlooking a river. It was the late afternoon and I would still need to skin and harvest the meat then return to camp. not to mention the boys eat a lot. I needed something quick. And satisfying.

I quickly jumped up the tree with ease thanks to my small physique. Next I brushed my shoulder length auburn hair out of my face and made my amulet sight upon a branch, fortifying my optics. I took careful inventory of the river below me. There was a widening in the stream where the flow was slower and the deer's would drink from, since they could resist the stronger currents of this river.

It was only a half hour before a doe showed up. I prefered the longer waits. It gave me time to think. I thought of my adoptive mother who ran the homestead, my dad who I never knew, my mother who was said to be a savior of Solitude. I could never venture there though. Not just because I was a Stormcloak, but the thoughts. I tapped an arrow to the bowstring, pulled back, and let if fly, right into the doe's windpipe.

I used my signature tool to reach the downed wildlife. It was a short sword attached to a string, which I tied between my legs so I could move from tree to tree. I quickly swung across the gap with ease and skinned the doe, butchered the meat, and took the antlers to sell at the market given the oppurtunity. I did this all whilst reciting Hircine's verse to wish it well in the hunting ground.

I never formally worshiped him but often drew him in my sketch book. A good passtime. He was an odd figure, A wolf with the head of a stag. I heard that he would appear to some hunters if they made a good kill as the sprite form of the downed beast. I made haste to our outpost near a my birth aunt and uncle's hunting outpost near some hot springs. They were hunters, and taught me my trade. I comtemplated visiting them but instead made way to the camp. The boys would be hungry and it was already sundown. Perhaps they were out.

They hunted game I could only dream of for now. They and a couple friend hunters, often took out giant camps and hagravens for the Jarl. I could only imagine hunting such game, as well as meeting the Jarl himself. What a legend. Some say he shouted Torygg apart. I don't believe a word of it though. He didn't murder him, he pierced his heart with a blade. I heard him say it after my Stormcloak training. I was behing Frandlund, a near 7 foot longswordsman who handled it like a dagger. He was in my coalittion.

I took out the meat that I had spiced with some beehive husk and some mountain flowers along the way. It just needed some salt and water and would be done. I walked into the camp to see the men already with their dinnerly mead rations ready. I put the meat on the stake, slathered in some salt water, and lit the fire after a short scounge for kindling all to the applause and sarcastic bits of the crowd. I also killed two skeevers with the help of Claw, me and my brother's dog. He was a wolfhound, tough as nail. The hole was located near the hill we lived upon.

After the preparing the dinner and killing the pests, I walked to the head tent and hugged my brother who was at the war table. Skod and Borri (Named after the Greybeard apparently.) sat studying the map. Skod was a good 6 inches taller then me, and had long jet black hair. Borri had short hair, was skinny, taller then Skod, but had a thick beard and mustache. They were the two heads of our camp, Skod the head.

"How are you two doing?" I asked as the two held steady glances towards a map, a opened letter lay near Borri. I noticed a Stormcloak carrier sat in the corner, drinking a mead. He was young and frail. His cuirass barely hung to his body. Borri smiled. "We got word from Galmar, we are to head out to Falkreath." "Tommorow!" Skod added enthusiasticly.

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_AN: Please review. Thanks!_


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